


Helotry

by GloriaMundi



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roman, Alternate Universe - Slavery, C04, Community: au_bingo, Historical, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-26
Updated: 2011-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-15 23:27:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriaMundi/pseuds/GloriaMundi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tribes are revolting. Eamus has drunk far too much honey-wine to deal with this right now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Helotry

Eamus loathes Britannia, every mile of it, from Anderitum in the (relatively) pleasant south to Maia at the western end of the confounded Wall. He'd never have buttered up the senator's son so ... enthusiastically (not to mention publicly) if he'd known his punishment would be demotion and exile. _Praefectus equitatus_ might be the pinnacle of aspiration to the hopeless cases he has to mingle with, but Eamus has fallen from dizzier heights than they'll ever achieve, and he's ended up in the arse-end of nowhere with the bitter wind battering through his skin and his bones rattling in his cold barrack room.

Tonight, though, tonight he's found himself a warm bed, albeit one that smells strongly of hunting-dog, with a hint of sour wine. He's still starved for company of the more pleasurable, willing and sophisticated kind, but he can't deny that he's spent a pleasant evening with Artos, who may be a filthy painted Pict but has a generous hand with the honey-wine, a wicked sense of humour and a physique that'd put the senator's son to shame.

Perhaps Eamus has overdone the honey-wine a bit -- it's wicked stuff -- for it takes him a while to realise that the shouting and crashing, the screams and the cheers, from outside the wattle walls are not a dream but something real. Something happening. Men fighting, women crying: something that he, as a fine upstanding representative of the Roman auxiliary garrison (this thought makes him feel slightly nauseous), should be preventing at all costs. The tribes must not be allowed to rise. The Wall's woefully undermanned: the Picts could swarm over it tomorrow, and then --

Eamus tries to untangle himself from the warm woollen blanket, but his limbs are clumsy and don't obey him. He tries to call out, but there's nobody left in the hut. It takes him an age to roll out of (or, more accurately, _off_ ) the bed and onto the pounded-earth floor of the hut.

"Don't," comes a voice from the doorway. A slender figure -- Artos, for all his skill at wrestling and speed at hunting, is not a large man -- looms black and faceless against a faint flickering light. "Stay there."

"There's -- I have to --"

"Eamus. Stay there." Artos' voice is implacable.

"You poisoned me," accuses Eamus, his mouth bitter with betrayal. (And honey-wine.)

"Ha. You poisoned yourself. Perhaps the wine was a little stronger than you Romans like it, but the men of the tribe drink twice as much without falling over."

"You knew," says Eamus fuzzily. "You knew the uprising would be tonight. You could have --"

"Stay here," says Artos. "Here is safe. Out there they'll tear you limb from limb."

"I could pass for --"

Artos laughs, even as the shouting and yelling from outside grows louder and closer. "You're a fucking Roman." Eamus can't remember ever hearing Artos swear, until tonight. "You couldn't pass for -- hmmm."

"What?" says Eamus, belatedly realising that a Pictish hut might not be the safest place for the _Praefectus equitatus_ at this time. "I should be at my post --"

"The Wall is overrun," Artos says, his voice cool. "I would have told you, if I thought you could change anything. You are my friend: we hunt together, we drink together. I wanted you safe. And now," his voice changes, harsher, more guttural: it takes Eamus in his befuddlement a moment to realise that Artos is no longer speaking Latin. "Now you are my slave, to do with as I will."

Eamus is wholly unprepared for the chaos of hopes and fears and horrors engendered by this statement. He has, for some time, very much hoped that Artos might wish to do all manner of things to -- with -- him. On the other hand, he's a _Roman officer_ for fuck's sake, Eagle and Emperor: he's no man's slave. Though, perhaps --

"Are you actually serious?" he says.

He forgets how fast Artos can move. One moment he's leaning against the doorpost, no doubt seeing Eamus more clearly than Eamus can see him. A heartbeat later he's knelt right next to where Eamus lies sprawled. "You are my _slave_!" he yells, loud enough to be heard outside. Then, much softer, "Pass for _this_ , my friend, and maybe you'll live to take the tale back to Rome."

Eamus makes his decision in an instant. (The honey-wine helps.) He wants to live; his duty bids him endure whatever he must in order to make his report. Oh, he'll endure; and there are worse fates than casting aside, for a while, his parade-helmet -- and the hopeless responsibilities that go with it -- in favour of a Pictish cap and a life in the heather at Artos' side.

"What is your wish, Master?" he says, light and lisping, and Artos' laugh is jubilant as trumpets.

-end-

**Author's Note:**

> You will be horrified to know that I researched this extensively, not only by rereading _The Eagle of the Ninth_ (the film isn't out in the UK yet, dammit) but also on the internets. (Links below are Wikipedia, but only because that's usually clearly-written and easy on the eye.)  
>  It's set during the [_barbarica conspiratio_ (barbarian uprising) of 367](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Conspiracy). Eamus is a cavalry officer (praefectus equitatus) in the [quartae Gallorum](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cohors_IV_Gallorum_equitata), posted to Hadrian's Wall and likely to've been hanging around [Vindolanda](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vindolanda) at the appropriate time.  
>  The Picts (and other Celts -- Eamus is a bit confused as to the difference) did indeed have slaves, preferably foreigners captured in battle.


End file.
